The Christmas spirit if it had to be described in the human world is the inclination to be kinder, selfless, and generally hopeful for things like friends and family. How humans have survived so long with the capacity to believe that and the selfless motivations of an obese man, in a hideous red suit bouncing kids on his lap, is beyond me. So I don't try to understand them. I chalk it all up to the fact that the majority of the population has pinto bean sized brains and for the rest who've been graciously endowed with intellect—they're slightly more fuckable. I've tasted me some scrumptious idiots. Luckily intelligence doesn't affect taste. But, now I've gone and gotten off track, the topic was Christmas spirit. To add to the list of things humans don't know the very thing that people write holiday songs about or blame their gleeful disposition on is in reality a long legged pain in my backside. When Christmas arrives my sprite personality, if you can believe it, becomes a little colder for reasons that have nothing to do with the weather or the fact that I'm dead.
In supernatural circles her name is derived from a long forgotten language that only a handful of individuals can speak fluently. I'm not one of them nor do I aspire to be a linguist in all languages basically extinct so I'll give you the name she goes by, Tillany. You like it don't you? I know I did when I first heard it rolling off the tongue the way it does. The name was sexy and the woman was in a league of her own in all the best ways. I think I mentioned the long legs, but I haven't described the delectable line of her thighs or the slight jiggle of her backside when she's walking away. We had some good times for a mere second and then we tired of each other and then for reasons unknown we just didn't like each other anymore. I want to say it has something to do with one of us crossing a boundary—maybe someone got eaten or fucked I don't remember. What matters is the smoldering hatred that burns from the bowels of a dark place rearing up whenever she's near. I physically react when she's around and I pity anyone who doesn't keep their distance for the entire month of December. Which brings me to why I'm on the subject of Tillany and this whole stupid holiday— I think humans like to call it a twist of fate, another idiotic phrase that's haunted me for years, but Tillany walked into my life again. I should say she sauntered that's more accurate because when a woman saunters, run for cover or at the very least be on guard 'cause nothing good can come from the swing of her hips.
It's funny I hadn't seen her in years and to recognize her from behind I impressed myself. She was a memorable fuck if anything, it's almost a shame I hate her too much to ever cross that line again. Then there's the girlfriend/progeny. I suppose it should mean something that I put girlfriend before progeny but if you have enough time in your day to dissect it , don't, this story is ten times more interesting than worrying over which title I'm committed to most. I detest titles, but I use them to dumb things down for humans, but more recently I use them to satisfy Tara Thornton, the girlfriend. I suppose when you're brought up by a woman who cares more about Jack, Morgan, and Jose she might become self conscious of her worth. If I'd known Tara back then I would have advised her with something along the lines of: don't compete against a bottle smash it against your mother's skull then leave her in the pool of shards to bleed out and die with the bottle she chose you over. I'm cruel. Expect it. This is the only disclaimer you get. In my defense I care deeply for Tara, anyone or thing with the audacity to hurt her is automatically on my shit list. It's new to me, caring or rather showing it. I cared for my maker and he never demanded to hear it or see it, at least not in the way Tara wants or needs. So I occasionally step away from the warm bosom of my comfort zone and show her how much she means to me. Sometimes I show her in the most amazingly sentimental ways I won't discuss, 'cause the thought of it affects me physically and I'd prefer to keep down the Vietnamese nurse I had earlier.
Now that you know I'm taken, that I hate the Christmas spirit, and she's made a guest appearance again in my life I'll start with the where. It was a celebration. The bitch feeds on happiness and she came running to the only buffet of happy humans I had the unfortunate pleasure of being surrounded by. More outings like this and my reputation will be indefinitely slaughtered consorting with hillbillies and townsfolk. They should be running for the hills. One woman had the nerve to say Merry Christmas to me with an offering of eggnog. Tara's been teaching me about restraint. I've heard of it, vaguely remember using it as a human, but I suppose she's influenced me more than I thought because I didn't rip the eggnog sharing smiley face's head off and pour the drink on her headless body. I am seconds from starting a massacre just to give the room a change of atmosphere and I felt a hand on the small of my back. It's Tara's hand I know it immediately. She rubs me through my black dress, yes I wore black to a Christmas party. I was dying inside. Tara was wearing a gray and pink kaleidoscope dress I bought her two weeks before. I surprise her with gifts like that. Normally, surprises aren't my thing, but being the quick learner I am one makes these types of allowances to keep a happy home.
"Don't even think about it," she warns rescuing the glass of eggnog from my grip mostly likely aware of where it was headed.
"How long do we have to be here?"
"We haven't been her for five minutes," she didn't sound irritated only amused.
And yet it felt far longer than an eternity.
She grabs my hand and strokes the back of it with her thumb. It's meant to be comforting and she succeeds. It lasts until I hear ho ho ho coming from the other side of Merlotte's. How did I come to be here again? One look from Tara and I had my question answered. She was still young and not as cynical about life as she'd like for most to believe. If she were on my level we would've gone to a remote country that's never heard of Christmas and made plans to fuck and feed for the entire month to avoid the wave of Christmas cheer.
"You're beautiful."
"You've already said that."
"It's true."
"Tara, if you want to make this evening more tolerable for me, you'd better start by telling me something I don't already know."
"That takes the fun out of surprising you later."
My eyebrows rise hearing the distinct inflection of promise in her voice and I'm intrigued. Tara liked to experiment. I don't comment preferring for the slow enjoyable thrill my imagination conjures. My eyes roam and Tara pulls me with her and I begin to think she might want to mingle with the other vampires who look like they want to be there. The curse of mainstreaming where vampire's like Bill can live vicariously through a crowd of meat suits. If he really thought the life of vampire is so terrible he'd do himself a favor and stop adding nails to his cross and take a reflective stroll out in the sun.
"Merry Christmas."
Damn Sookie.
"Merry Christmas Sook," Tara unfortunately engages and ignores all my visceral attempts to get her attention so we can leave. How the mighty have have fallen.
"You look…very festive Pam," I can tell she's genuine and it's stabbing at my decreasing arsenal of patience.
"You look…" I tested a few variations of the end of that sentence in my head and decided none of them sounded appropriately restrained, "you're glowing with Christmas cheer." It wasn't a compliment, it was a fact, and therefore it didn't count.
There's that dumb look. Then the slow smile and the hesitant recognition "wow Pam, that's very nice of you."
"Settle down, just as long as we're not getting matching tattoos after this."
She engages Tara again and I slip away no more interested in their discussion than playing nice with the fairy. I had my limits. That's when I spotted those hips and knew who had come to this speck in Northern Louisiana. Off course she'd be drawn to the bubbliest merrymaker in the room. Jessica sat on the bar serenading a thin crowd of fans with a karaoke machine singing something about snow and sleighs. All Christmas songs were redundant, perfect for drunken karaoke lovers and progenies of Bill Compton.
"Pam!,"
Shit Jessica. Tillany's eyes found mine on her stool her fingers inching toward Jessica's unsuspecting thighs. Those fingers stopped and soon my space was indelicately invaded by the scent of her earthy perfume. She hadn't changed though, being immortal tended to do that.
"As I live and breathe," she circled me and I followed.
"Isn't that a shame?"
"I heard you made it down this way. I barely recognized you you're usually lodged up Eric's ass. Where is your maker?"
I gave her the short version, "he's not here."
"Pam you gotta join me," and here is the Cheeto with her singing machine in tow.
"Get that microphone out of my face or be prepared to walk funny in the very near future."
Like a good Cheeto she retracts her arm, but she doesn't go away, instead she repeats her question.
"No."
"But just one song," she practically whines holding up one finger and I consider very seriously whether to rip it off or not.
"No."
I think of Jessica as a baby or an undisciplined puppy. One look and she shuts her mouth or resigns trying to recruit me for one of her crusades. It shouldn't have needed to take a look however like I've made the mistake a time or two indulging her and I suppose it's spoiled her. Such a sentimental vampire just like her maker, they deserved each other.
"Come on Pam," Tillany is no longer content to stand on the sidelines and keep her mouth shut. She grabs a glass of eggnog off a passing tray. I know that tone and I dare her with a death glare I reserve for occasions like these. The Christmas spirit has a terrible sense of humor and a hideous power that enables her to manipulate anything. She was almost as bad as a witch and now I'm beginning to remember why we might have had the falling out. I've seen her make a room of distinguished republicans into a frat house on one Christmas before I picked my teeth with their conservative bones. Needless to say that was around the time we were on good terms. Tillany not only can feed on emotions she can feed them as well so if you're ever at a party and the idea of streaking or some other random notion gets passed around it's mostly likely she had something to do with it. The woman's good I'll give her that.
"One song Pam, you don't even have to sing it alone, we can do a duet," as if that made it all the better.
"Get in the spirit," I heard Tillany goad or more to the point she was telling me, like I was someone to order. The bitch had her Christmas lights twisted.
"Or what?"
"Tara'll love it."
Red really couldn't keep her mouth shut tonight. Tillany asked who Tara was, as expected, and Jessica obliges without a care in the world. She wouldn't survive much longer either by my hand or some lucky vampire who'd have the pleasure of ripping her traitorous tongue out. With my whole love story shared with the very last person in the world I wanted to know it Tillany had a gleam in her eyes. Nothing good would come from that gleam I knew and my shoulders tensed readying myself for her best shot.